


Hold My Hand and I’ll Make It Through

by Marbles123



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy ending though, M/M, sadly no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:45:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marbles123/pseuds/Marbles123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur wants to know what happened to Eames's pinky. Eames will tell Arthur anything, no matter how painful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold My Hand and I’ll Make It Through

**Author's Note:**

> First off I want to thank the lovely redxluna for betaing.  
> Secondly, this really did come about from me contemplating the cripple pinky. Why my mind came to this conclusion probably says some unflattering things about me, however, a warning: it is graphic and nasty so please, please don't read if you're easily triggered. I don't want to cause anyone unwarranted pain. I suppose you could claim "ooc" for Eames, but I don't care how much of a bamf you are, certain things just ruin you. I hope the fluff at the end isn't TOO sappy.

Arthur studied Eames’s hand as it glided across their breakfast table to grab the creamer. He focused in on the ever present curve of Eames’s pinky fascinated by the distinctive feature. He’d never asked how it happened and Eames never offered up a story, odd because he couldn’t stop talking about his tattoos and their meanings. Arthur could recite each story with only a minimum of sarcasm. His private research had narrowed it down to Eames’s time in the military, a bland medical report stating he had been injured during a training exercise.

“Oh, Arthur, I know I’m gorgeous but try not to stare.” Eames sipped his tea, his eyes crinkling in mirth over the brim of his cup. Arthur broke out of his trance and picked at his muffin, rolling his jaw as he did. “Go ahead.” 

“What?” Arthur looked up at him, forehead knit. Eames’s face brightened when he got the upper hand. A confused Arthur was an adorable Arthur, his perfect features scrunched up and his usual confidence absent. 

“Ask me what you want to know.”

“How do you do that?” Arthur let his hand fall to the table, corners of his mouth curving up. “Are you adding psychic to your list of skills?” 

Eames’s eyes twinkled at the teasing even as he shook his head. “No, I just know you. You’re not as mysterious as you think you are, darling Arthur.” He folded up the newspaper he’d been skimming and rested his elbows on the table. “No one is.” 

“We can’t all be an enigma like you.”

“I’m not. I’ll answer anything you ask me.”

“Yeah, with a riddle or another question,” Arthur pointed out. Eames scoffed in amusement, wetting his lips. 

“Come now, I’ve told you plenty.”

“How’d that happen?” Arthur pointed with his chin toward Eames’s pinky. Eames looked down and scoffed, covering it with his hand as he sat back. 

“Oh, that.” He stared down at the table, eyes vacant. Arthur found it strange his forehead knitting up again. Eames noticed the concern and shrugged it off, pulling his robe around him tighter. “Do you feel a chill?” He smiled again, but not the affectionate one he saved for Arthur it was the mask he gave to everyone else. Arthur shook his head, his own robe hanging loosely around him.

“No.” 

“Oh, well, must be someone dancing on my grave then.” Eames dismissed, taking another sip of tea. 

“Misdirection won’t work on me, Chris Angel.” 

Eames put his cup down, falling silent as he ran his finger along the rim of the saucer. “Why do you want to know?”

Arthur canted his head and glared. “Oh, you’ll answer anything I ask, right?”

Eames hummed in his throat staring Arthur down. “I’ll answer you. I simply want to know why. If I’m going to reveal something I certainly want to know why.”

“Because it’s my favorite thing about you and I want to know its origin.” 

Eames gave him a tight smile looking down at his hand and then back up at Arthur. “This is your favorite thing about me?”

“Among other things,” Arthur grinned, leaning forward on the table. Eames laughed his wonky teeth on full display. “Come on, what could possibly embarrass you?” 

The laughter died and Eames hummed again, bowing his head. “Oh, even I feel shame.”

“I told you about the time I stole a car and crashed into a police cruiser.” 

“Yes, that was when I knew I loved you because I still found it endearing.” 

“Don’t butter me up.” 

“I’m not, _now_ I’m avoiding.”

Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes, grabbing his coffee and getting up. “Forget it.” 

Eames watched him head into the living room, muscles tense with the need to follow after. He could hear the television playing and could just picture Arthur sitting there stewing. When he heard the rapid flipping of channels he laughed to himself. It was a terrible burden to always be right. He tapped his knuckles against the table, weathering his lip.

“Oh bugger it,” he said, grabbing his tea and following. Arthur ignored him when he sat down, shifting away as much as the plush cushions would allow. Eames let it roll off his shoulders, slouching down, his head resting on the back of the couch. He stared at the screen as it flashed from reality TV to the news to cartoons and so on. Eames slowly turned his head to look at Arthur his eyes big and sad. 

“It’s not going to work.” Arthur muttered, refusing to look at him. Eames stayed silent his hand sliding over the small space between them to play at the fabric of Arthur’s robe. It was met with a huff and Arthur crossing his legs to get it away. Eames left his hand where it was staring down at it in defeat. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as he felt the tension building. Releasing a long breath, he clicked his tongue and started talking. 

“I was twenty two.” Arthur turned to look at him his features softening. Eames looked away as he continued. “We were training for Project Somnacin, pretending to run missions to make better soldiers—all that rubbish…”

_Eames and Freddie rushed behind the burnt out building and pressed up against the wall. The dust clung to the sweat on their faces and Eames swore he would bake alive in his fatigues under the desert sun. They had just dodged the enemy, trying to get back to the rest of their team without being shot. Eames had his eyes closed as he tried to catch his breath and felt a hand stroke his face. He jerked back and stared at his partner. Freddie wasn’t even near him, but he knew what he felt._

_“Did you just touch my face?”_

_“What are you on about?” Freddie was trying to peer around the corner without getting his face blown off._

_“Did you touch my face?” Eames asked again, running his hand over where he’d felt it._

_“Listen, mate, you’re bloody gorgeous but I don’t fancy you. Pay attention to what we’re doing you git.”_

_Eames grunted at the insult, however, Freddie was right. He shook it off and put his focus back on the mission. They rounded the corner and ducked behind some rubble, dodging fire. He jumped up to take out a sniper when he felt hands on his chest._

_“What the bloody hell, Freddie?!” He turned to hit him only to find Freddie was busy digging into his pockets for another clip. It made no sense. Eames stood there staring trying to figure it out, leaving himself exposed._

_“Get down!” Freddie shouted just as Eames felt the bullet hit his chest. His breath hitched in his throat and he slumped forward. Freddie scrambled to him. Eames was gasping and coughing up blood, unable to speak. “Ah, got your lung I think.” Freddie shook his head, as he removed Eames’s helmet. “See you topside, mate. Next time be more careful.” He pulled out his handgun and shot Eames between the eyes._

_Eames jerked awake, the taste of blood still in his mouth. He gasped deeply, reaching for his chest, panicking. His fingers hit skin, but found no wound. His mind was foggy from the somnacin hangover and the violent ending. There was a person over him, it wasn’t Freddie. Someone always stayed above to monitor them. He knew this._

_Sergeant Harris patted his face to get him to focus and calm down. “You’re back early, wasn’t expecting that.”_

_Eames looked up at him in a daze, his eyes still unfocused. He was making little panicked noises that would have embarrassed him if he’d had his wits about him. Harris was staring down at him, stroking his face. Eames’s hand rubbed at his chest trying to find the bullet wound. It took him a moment to realize his shirt was open, yet another to realize Harris had his fingers in him._

_“W-What?” He looked down and saw that his trousers were around his ankles and his shirt was wide open. Harris was half naked, erect and fingering him. He struggled to move, his panic compounding._

_“Easy, mate, no point fighting now,” Harris pressed down on his chest, the weight feeling heavier than it was to Eames’s drugged mind. He looked around and saw Freddie and the rest of the team resting on their cots, still under. Harris was breathing heavily into his ear, pumping his fingers into him. Eames reached out slowly for Freddie, the line still attached to his wrist._

_“F-Freddie…” It sounded weak and pathetic even to his ears. Harris flicked his fingers causing him to jerk up and focus on him. “Get off me!”_

_“You’re hallucinating, just relax.”_

_“Sod you, get off me!” Eames swung at his face, his movements sloppy and weak. He kept his focus on Harris’s face trying again and again to hit it, his breathing high and wheezy. “Get off! Get off! Get off!” Harris pulled his fingers out and grabbed Eames’s wrists, squeezing painfully. The cannula was still in his wrist and Eames cried out at the pressure, kicking and wriggling as he tried to get away. Harris laughed and squeezed harder._

_“Stop!”_

_“Calm down and I will.”_

_“It fucking hurts!” Eames mewled in pain. Harris was unmoved._

_“Are you going to be good?”_

_Eames nearly gagged, turning his head away. “…Yes.”_

_“All right then.” Harris released his wrist and Eames held it to his chest before rushing to take the cannula out. “See, you survived.” Harris ran his hand down Eames’s face. Eames lay there, letting him do it as he tried to clear his mind, eyes shut. He felt so sick and heavy. “That’s it, good lad.” Harris ran his hand down Eames’s hip. His eyes snapped open and he punched Harris right in the nose. Harris shouted in pain and Eames shoved at him, hard, knocking him off. A wave of nausea hit him when he sat up and he gagged again, his head spinning._

_“Fuck…” he looked at his ankles reaching out feebly to pull up his trousers._

_“Fucking cunt!” Harris backhanded him and shoved him back down. He slipped between Eames’s legs, his trousers now helping to keep them locked together. Eames swatted at him again. Harris caught him by the wrist, glaring at him. Eames trembled at the rage he saw glaring back at him. He didn’t have time to process what was happening he just felt the white hot pain in his finger when it was snapped. Harris slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, breaking it a second time. Eames stared wide eyed at his finger dangling limply. “That’s what you get.” Harris hoisted his hips, lining up. Eames’s attention snapped back to him._

_“N-No!” It came out muffled behind the hand as did the scream he let out when Harris thrust in. Harris bent him nearly in half, rutting into him with hard, angry thrusts. Eames squeezed his eyes shut, grunting at each one._

_“Shut your fucking face, you stupid little cunt.” Harris hissed in his ear. “No less than what you deserve, fucking **ponce**.” _

_Eames knew he was crying, but he didn’t want to open his eyes and let them fall. His tears leaked out anyway and Harris laughed. “Aww, poor little fairy can’t handle my cock?”_

_The taunt pulled a sob from his throat, his uninjured hand coming up to cover his face. Harris pounded into him, his thrusts getting faster and shorter. Eames grimaced when he felt him spurting inside him, stomach churning. Harris panted on top of him, sucking on Eames’s neck. Eames cringed and pushed against him. He saw Freddie again, lying there, completely unaware._

_“Do you think you’d be able to make him cum too?” Harris taunted, following his look._

_“Get off me.” Eames said, his voice raw and hollow. Harris scoffed and pushed himself up._

_“Don’t flatter yourself.” Harris gathered a glob of saliva in the back of his throat and spit it in his face. Eames flinched and wiped it away, mewling in disgust. “That’s what you mean to me.”_

_Harris rolled off of him, pulling out roughly. Eames could feel the spunk leaking out of him as he stared up at the ceiling still unable to process what happened. His mouth twitched and he blinked out more tears, paralyzed by the shock._

_“Get dressed they’ll be up soon.”_

_With some effort, Eames was able to push himself up. He wiped the remaining spit off his face, along with the remainder of his tears. More fell when he used the sheet to clean himself, wincing in pain. He pulled his pants and trousers back up with one trembling hand, pausing at his shirt. His attempts to button it one handed, while admirable, were unsuccessful. Cursing under his breath he took a few deep breaths, trying to stop his whole body shaking._

_“I-I, um, I need h-help—my shirt.” His voice was tight and raspy, words bitter on his tongue. Harris walked up calmly, having dressed and tended to his nose. Eames swallowed and looked up at him. “How do I explain this?” He held his hand up._

_“Easy, you woke up in shock and popped me in the nose, an unfortunate accident during a training exercise.” He started buttoning Eames’s shirt. He could tell Eames was fighting the urge to bolt that even the hint of a touch made him flinch. “I don’t think I need to say what’ll happen if you run your gob about this.”_

_Eames shook his head, eyes on the floor. “No, sir.”_

_“Good.” He smirked, reaching out for him. Eames jerked away. Harris chuckled to himself. “And no more messing up the missions with your pathetic little feelings, yeah?”_

_“No, sir.”_

_Harris grabbed him by the chin and forced Eames to look at him, laughing at the startled whimper it caused. He studied Eames’s face, his face a mask of smug disappointment, “What a good little solider.”  
_

_The taunt broke him. Eames felt angry tears falling down his face, disgusted with himself for doing so. Harris smirked and blew a kiss at him. Eames was about to punch him when the team started to wake up. Harris smirked and patted his cheek._

_“Not a word now.”_

_Eames watched as Harris went to each of them, helping them through the nausea. Eames wiped at his eyes and swallowed his trauma. Freddie looked over at him lazily and gave him the thumbs up. Eames nodded forcing a smile._

_“We slaughtered the bastards.” Freddie cheered, still loopy._

_Eames laughed to cover up his sob. “Happy for you, mate.”_

Arthur felt his eyes burning as he listened. Eames hadn’t looked at him once but had been carefully monitoring every gasp and movement. When Eames stopped he took a breath and rubbed at his eyes. The silence between them became uncomfortable. Arthur knew he had to say something he just had no clue what that should be.

“How did he know you were gay?” 

Eames swallowed and stared up at the ceiling. “I’d told him a week earlier. I was developing feelings for Freddie and was worried it would affect the missions. Everything was so new back then. We didn’t really know what we were getting into—those early formulas were so harsh.” He trailed off, rubbing at his nose. “I thought I could trust him. I looked up to him until that moment.” He swallowed again, eyes narrowed with thought, “I didn’t tell anyone who I really was after that.” 

Arthur bowed his head, picking at the couch. “You told me.”

Eames smiled sadly, “That’s because I’m yours, always have been.” His eyes shifted over to Arthur briefly then back at the ceiling. “I’d do anything for you, my darling Arthur.” 

Arthur pressed his lips together, eyes shimmering. He reached out to touch Eames’s face but was intercepted. Eames cradled Arthur’s hand in his own, kissing it. Arthur nodded that he understood. It was too soon for touch after reliving that. Eames offered up a silent apology. 

“I’d never hurt you.” Arthur pledged, squeezing Eames’s hand. 

“I know.” 

“I love you.” He felt Eames’s fingers twitch in his hand, but he wouldn’t make eye contact.

“Still?”

Arthur shook his hand to get his attention. “Hey, look at me.” Eames was reluctant but he did. “I want _you_. All of you, good and bad, understand?” He ran his thumb over Eames’s knuckles, staring at him. Eames blinked out tears, nodding. “Can I kiss you?”

“No, I’ll be sorted in a moment but I can’t associate _that_ with you, don’t’ ask me to.” The words flew out of his mouth quicker than he intended, heartbeat fluttering in his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming on, heralded by the clammy sweat on his forehead and shaky hands. Arthur shifted so he faced him, speaking softly.

“It’s okay.” Arthur rubbed his fingers over Eames’s palm. “You’re with me. We’re in our apartment, safe and sound.”

Eames squeezed his eyes shut, taking slow breaths and listening to Arthur’s voice. They sat like that a while, the TV long forgotten. Arthur petted his hand that being the only part he was allowed to touch. When Arthur noticed that his breathing had evened out and the sweat on his forehead disappeared he dared to ask the vengeful question burning in his mind. 

“So… what was his first name?”

Eames hummed in amusement, smiling before he opened his eyes to look at Arthur. “No.”

“What?” Arthur pretended to be naïve. 

“I want him alive.” 

“Who said I was going to do anything?” 

“You don’t have to say it I can practically hear you thinking it.” Eames laughed, eyes twinkling once again. Arthur wasn’t amused. 

“You never told anyone, he’s probably done this countless times. He deserves it.”

“No, I want him to live a long, long life. He’s harmless now anyway.”

“How can you know that?”

“Because shortly after I was ‘killed in action’ someone broke into his home in the middle of the night, carved the word rapist on his forehead and blinded him.” Arthur’s jaw dropped making him laugh. “I wanted to kill him, but I just couldn’t. I owe him in a weird way. I learned to forge because of him.”

_“What?”_

“He made me hate myself so much I wanted to be someone else. One day, in a normal training, Freddie turned to look at me and almost messed his pants. I had forged him almost perfectly. It helped, to be someone else. It really did.” He shrugged, “Probably not the healthiest way to go about it, but I’m still here. I wasn’t always sure of that.”

Arthur went rigid, at the confession, nostrils fairing and bottom lip widening. He pulled Eames’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “That shit almost stole you from me.” 

“But he didn’t. I’m with you and he’s alone in total darkness.”

“Is that why you blinded him?”

“Well, he marked me,” He held up his pinky. “I felt I should return the favor.” 

“Carving rapist into his forehead would have done that. Then he’d have to stare at it every day and know what a shit he was.” 

“I wasn’t concerned about poetic justice at the time, Arthur. I wanted him to feel a great deal of pain by my hand. I wanted him to feel alone, scared, confused, helpless,” he shivered and cleared his throat. “I’m merciful but I’m not a saint.” 

“Fair enough,” Arthur conceded, threading their fingers together. He studied them, running the fingers of his other hand over them. His eyes lit up when he looked at Eames, “Come here.” He tugged gently, not forcing if Eames resisted. Eames went with it sliding so their foreheads touched. Arthur traced his lips with his index finger, whispering when he spoke. “You’re a beautiful person, Mr. Eames.” 

He tilted his chin towards him, waiting. Eames nodded his consent and Arthur closed the distance. It was a soft, affectionate kiss, meant more to reassure than arouse. Arthur sucked on Eames’s bottom lip, nursing the affection out of him. Eames kissed him back, cupping Arthur’s face.

Arthur lay back so that Eames could lie on top of him. He kissed Arthur languidly, drowning out the static in his head. This was his future, his reward for sticking it out. He pulled back to gaze down at Arthur’s flushed cheeks and swollen lips. His face softened, contentment radiating from within him. He kissed Arthur once more then settled down so his head was resting on his chest. 

“Can we just lie here a bit?” His eyes closed as he felt Arthur’s warm hands in his hair, playing with it slowly. He hummed in approval, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s chest.

“Oh, no, I must do those breakfast dishes right now.” Arthur teased, smiling when he heard Eames chuckle against his chest. “That tickles.”

“Apologies, love.” 

“No it’s fine.” He closed his eyes and stroked Eames’s hair, wrapping his leg around the back of Eames’s thigh. 

“Forgive me being a sap, but you make me so very happy.” He shifted a little snuggling into Arthur more. “I know who and what I am around you and I’m not ashamed. I think I can face anything as long as you’re there at the end of it to hold my hand.” 

“I feel the same.” 

Eames heaved a great sigh, “Christ, I’m knackered, bloody panic attacks take it right out of you don’t they?”

“Get some rest. I’ve got you.” Arthur let his hands run down the back of Eames’s neck to his shoulders and then over his back before sliding back up again. He kissed the messy blonde hair and smiled to himself. Eames’s breathing evened out, followed by a gentle snore. Arthur suppressed his laugh, continuing to pet him. 

“My great enigma.” 

fin

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to say that, though you probably can't tell from my fiction, Eames /is/ my favorite out of just about every character ever created. I don't know why I'm such a shit to him.
> 
> My head canon is that the drug went through several formulas before they found one that worked well. 
> 
> And yes, Freddie is Freddie Simmons, the name Eames gives in the bar, but if you want to picture Freddie Jackson go right ahead. :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr if you wish: http://lost-marbles-all-over-the-place.tumblr.com/


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